


Flare

by carcinog3neticist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Blood, Chucklevoodoos, Disturbing Themes, Dubious Consent, Emotional torment, Gen, Genital Mutilation, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Alteration, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, NonSgrub, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Sexual Slavery, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carcinog3neticist/pseuds/carcinog3neticist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat has always been the one in charge when it comes to his diamond status with Gamzee, he has always been the one keeping Gamzee safe, cleaning up his wounds, berating him when he gets out of line, and keeping him mentally and emotionally stable. They were an unlikely pair since they first hooked up, but they've worked just as fine as any other healthy diamond on alternia. However, when rescued from the clutches of Gamzee's own brethren, it's up to the clown to be the strong one in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Approach and Assault

**Author's Note:**

> http://frankenai.tumblr.com/ writes for Gamzee Makara and Kurloz Makara in this story, as well as various other NPC subjugglators. Give them credit where credit is due! (They do not have an AO3 account so I was unable to add them as the coauthor.

Karkat wasn't entirely sure how to take the news given to him. Wasn't sure where to focus his scattered thoughts. He was scared, he knew that much, scared to death. He felt his heart pounding like a drum against his chest, rapid, unsure, unsettled, uneasy, _scared_.

_Ba-dump..._

_Ba-dump..._

_Ba-dump..._

He had to calm down, he couldn't afford to panic, no matter how icy his fingers felt, no matter how much it felt like he'd dipped himself into the frost ponds of the Broken Peaks. Numb, and cold. He was still here, still alive, everything was okay, except it wasn't. His mind was a torrent, bright red and subdued indigo, swirling together and tingling, mixing, until they became pale as ashes, dipped into the colors, hued pink, twisted, into the shape of a diamond that was fractured through, broken, damaged, wounded. But not for the reasons one might think!

A faction of sea dwellers had risen up recently, split off from the empresses' army of fin sporting douche bags in a violent rebellion against land dwellers. To murder the blight of their existence into the face of nothingness. They'd gone from planet to planet, murdering all the young land dwellers they found. Nothing more than a bunch of cowards killing kids. But they were land dwellers, the empress didn't care. The land dwellers did, and thankfully, they had some sort of protection, albeit terrifying protection. The subjugglators, highest of the land dwellers, rising up to stand against them, waiting for them to come to the main planet, which they did.

The subjugglators had been waiting for them.

More specifically, a faction, a small group of subjugglators and laughsassins and Gamzee Makara, Karkat's moirail and the one he was responsible for, was one of them.

Karkat was terrified, but not for himself, oh no, his fear was centered completely around the object of his most pale of affections, the one whom he was in charge of keeping calm. The stupid, childish, sometimes backwards, face-paint wearing, honking douche bag known as Gamzee Makara, proud subjugglator, one of the top ranking laughsassins, and descendant of the Grand Highblood himself, nightmare to land and sea dwellers, young and old alike. They had been together since they were kids, barely wigglers.

He was four sweeps old when he first got his husktop, four sweeps old when he first met Gamzee.

When they were six sweeps old, they became moirails.

Eight sweeps old, Gamzee joined the subjugglator corps stationed on Alternia, a little after that, he went into space for a while. Him and Karkat kept communication long distance, video chatted almost every day. Where they could manage it, they met in person.

Nine sweeps old, that was now, and Gamzee might be dead.

Karkat didn't know much, he could only listen in on the communications device Gamzee got him, letting him listen in on the subjugglator broadcast. He heard that the group had wiped out the sea dwellers, that there was only one survivor from the group, a laughsassin, the Grand Highblood's descendant, whom was now in intensive care from extreme injuries. But Karkat never heard an exact name.

Severe burns.

Concussion.

Broken arm, broken collarbone, broken ribs.

Cracked ribs, cracked skull, cracked femur.

Severe blood loss.

Various stab and bullet wounds.

Electrocution.

Internal bleeding.

The list went on and on and as Karkat listened to them list off the injuries he couldn't help but feel his heart turn to ice, thick and heavy in his chest as he felt his heart, that diamond, breaking into tiny bits in his head. If it was Gamzee, the mere thought of him so broken in a hospital bed had the other wailing. If it wasn't, he was dead. Dead dead dead dead dead and it was Karkat's fault for not making him stay. For keeping him from that mission. Karkat's fault anyway for not doing that even if the survivor was Gamzee.

He tried contacting Tavros first, a brown blood whom he'd stayed close to despite the years, despite their relationship as wigglers which had been rather rocky and a lot of that was Karkat's fault. They'd both grown up a lot since then, Karkat in particular. They got along better, worked together a lot. Tavros answered, rather quickly. Tried to calm Karkat down, tried to assure him that Gamzee was going to be okay. To just wait, and be patient.

And he couldn't.

But he was calmed down.

He thanked the other for the help, sincere in that regard even if the way it came out was less than favorable. It had cleared his head, and he promised not to do anything stupid. And he thought. For several days, Karkat couldn't sleep, just.. staying awake. Waiting, desperately, for any sign of Gamzee's condition on the communication device. There wasn't much, and he couldn't ask anyone for more information. And it was pure hell, he wanted to tear his hair out in concern. On the fifth day, that was when he made up his mind. That was when he decided he'd wait no longer, but go to the source itself and discover for himself.

He had been staring at the window, squinting at the barest hints of sunlight that managed to get into his hive, feeling his vision swim before he finally just closed his eyes, stood up, and made his way to his respite block. He cleaned himself, scrubbed his skin until it felt raw and rinsed his hair out so all loose fibers would already be taken care of. He then moved down, down into the basement, into the tunnels beneath his hive, and he retrieved a safe, from which he pulled an outfit. A black body suit, complete with a special mask and shoes and small add ons for specialized armor. Part of the regulatory laughsassin outfit, created for mobility, for speed, and for stealth. And minus all that annoying clown paraphernalia bullshit. He ignored the armor parts, for now anyway, his goal was entirely stealth, if he was caught, he was dead anyway, he knew that full well.

He apologized to Tavros, whom he'd promised he wouldn't do anything stupid to.

Because this was going to be really fucking stupid. He knew that as he suited up, just in time for darkness to take over. He new what he was doing was so completely fucking panless that he should be shot in the face right now even as he did it. If he was still in contact with Nepeta, if this was Equius in this situation, he knew she'd do the same thing. Nothing would keep her from her moirail, and nothing would keep Karkat from his. Not even the threat of death by Gamzee's stupid fucking religious buddies. Not the warnings his own think pan threw at him as he waited for nightfall.

And not the distance or the means.

 

It was almost a full night in enough of itself to get there. And Karkat even used the void skimmer, which was meant for traveling through space, and greatly reduced the travel time that would have taken weeks in any other situation. It was illegal to have on planet. But then again, Karkat's very existence was illegal. He'd have been culled by anyone if they knew his blood color beyond those whom already did. Which was very few, consisting of Kanaya, Sollux, Tavros, and Gamzee (not counting the secret underground resistance that Tavros helped run whom Karkat was more or less a figurehead of despite his own intentions, thanks, Signless).

This particular encampment, Karkat was well aware of. It was the same one that Gamzee was always at when he was on planet. And Karkat hid the Void skimmer in the usual spot, just a little ways beyond their secret meeting location. And with the sun hot on his heels, he made his way to the subjugglator encampment.

It was daytime, which worked in his favor. Trolls could not stand the Alternian sun, it blistered and blinded and cooked trolls and animals alike alive. Most hid from it's painful rays, launching an attack on another troll during the day was laughable. Because it was a weakness they all shared. They would not be expecting anyone to sneak in. But that didn't mean it was easy. There were still cameras, still people patrolling the buildings on the inside, away from the windows. Karkat found refuge in the vents most often. And it was several painfully slow hours of crawling and waiting in absolute silence.

It took almost the entire day, he could see the sun starting to set by the time he finally reached the room he knew Gamzee was in. He knew which one it was ahead of time thanks to the communication device he had, it'd been easy to follow the numbers through the vents, and the scent of blood was so heavy in the halls that no subjugglators seemed to detect him.

He waited, silently, for an hour, before the halls were clear and he, oh so slowly, removed the vent cover. He was painfully slow, pushing his patience limits further as he slowly, oh so slowly, put it down, and he waited further, before slipping out and into the hallway. He could hardly believe his luck, really. He'd been so terrified of the subjugglators, so terrified of their power, so scared of being found. But this had all gone so much better than he planned for. And he reached the room, almost feeling the temptation to smile as he found it was unlocked, but also angry that it wasn't. What the fuck did they think they were doing leaving it unlocked? Or maybe they were just so self assured they wouldn't be attacked on home ground? In any case, the door opened, and Karkat entered silently.

He could almost cry.

Gamzee was wrapped almost head to two in bandages and casts, with tubes running in and out of his arms and a machine helping him breathe, keeping his lungs inflated, keeping his heart going, which was beating unevenly, he could tell from one of the many monitors hooked up to his moirail. No blankets, the room was kept warm for him, so that his entire body, bruised and bloody and broken, could be seen and watched. To Karkat, for the first time in his life, he felt bigger than Gamzee was, and the feeling was not a good one. He was the one who was supposed to protect Gamzee, supposed to keep him calm and safe and happy and he had failed so completely.

But he was seeing him now, and he was getting better. He'd been expecting worse than this, but he could see Gamzee's eyes fluttering behind his eyelids, dreaming, which meant brain activity, which meant he was still there. He wasn't gone. And that was enough to hold Karkat off to wait. He knew he was getting better, he heard them mention Gamzee's condition when he was first brought in.

He moved around the side of the bed, approaching the other and wrapping his much warmer fingers around Gamzee's hand, wondering if, just maybe, he might be able to feel it, in his dream, and know that someone was there and waiting and hurry up and wake up. He was gentle about it, making sure not to squeeze or clench too tightly. He huffed, staring at Gamzee as he tugged at the suit he wore, not wanting to leave... but he knew he didn't have the right blood color to stay. Didn't have the right blood color for anything but death. But he wasted a few precious seconds to lean over and rest a chaste, gentle kiss on Gamzee's forehead, a protective little gesture he did often, and every single time Gamzee had to leave his company. And, hurrying up, he headed back to the door, opening it back up.

 

“Mother _FUCK_ brother mine, do you think he all got himself up to being clever, thinking we ain't noticed the second he done stepped in the camp?”

 

. . .

 

The last thing Karkat recalled hearing, was the sound of his own throat going raw from screaming.  


	2. Blindfolds and Blood Letting

Nothing is worse than that feeling you get when you wake up and you have no idea where you are… except maybe the feeling of waking up, having no idea where you are, and realizing that everything just hurt. That had been Gamzee Makara about a week ago, when he finally regained consciousness from all the wounds he had acquired from the battle. He didn’t remember what had happened to him at first, everything in his mind but a muddled mess of screams and pain. It didn’t take him too long to remember though, after his thoughts began to organize themselves and he slowly recalled the events that transpired a few weeks ago. It was almost hard for him to believe he survived that shit. There were a lot of Sea Dwellers, he really thought that the fact that he was alive had to be a miracle from the Messiahs themselves, because there was no other way he could have survived the amount of damaged he received, not even if he was a Highblood of the highest Land Dweller caste, and a descendant from the Grand Highblood himself.

The Highblood could barely move a hand without feeling pain shoot up his whole arm, collarbone and consequentially, his ribcage. It was hard to breathe without feeling like he had a fucking hoofbeast sitting upon his chest, or feeling a painful, throbbing pain on his side. It was awful, but thankfully, as the days went by, he began to feel better. Just two days after waking up, he could move his arms around, touch his own face, and guide the food and water to his lips. It took him about three more days after that to be able to sit up on his own without any back support, and just another day to actually get up from his bed and walk around.

It had been a painfully long recovery process (for his own Highblood standards) so he was more than glad when he was finally allowed to leave his room and walk around on his own for a little bit.

During this whole time though, he had no communication with the outside world, and quite frankly, he was worried for his dear moirail’s state. He knew his palest of brothers would be worrying himself sick over him, no doubt having heard what had happened to him through that communicator he’d gotten him so he could listen into Subjugglator broadcast and keep up to date with his missions. Unfortunately, no electronics were allowed in his room, outside the medical equipment needed to monitor his health because of concerns about any electronics that might send any sort of signal would mess with said equipment. So obviously, the first thing he wanted to do as soon as he was allowed to leave his room, was find the nearest husktop and tell Karkat that he was okay, just send him a quick message that would let him know that everything was fine.

Of course, said plans were put on hold, as he was stopped by some of his fellow Subjugglators, two of them. They were both of lower ranking, so upon coming across him, even if he was not wearing his uniform, and had nothing on but a hospital gown, the two of them saluted him with their customary salute for their higher ups. Gamzee merely grunted out a greeting, always professional.

“Bless the motherfuckin’ Messiahs, you’re finally got to leave what healing block you were confined in,” one of them spoke up. “We were startin’ to get our worry on for ya. Thought you might never get to leave that place.”

Gamzee merely shrugged—an action that would’ve caused him to yelp in pain a few days ago—before he answered. “Is there somethin’ you all be mother fucking wantin’ from a brother?”

The two Subjugglators glanced at each other and shared secretive, excited grins. “We all up and got a surprise to throw at you, motherfucker.”

That perked Gamzee’s interest but just a tad. A surprise? For him? From them? Last time he had a surprise from a couple of Subjugglators, he found himself with several containers of rare blood shades. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate that, but by the look on their faces, something told him that this surprise was probably even bigger by their standards. “Can’t it motherfuckin’ wait? I got some shit I gotta get my do on,” he commented.

The second Subjugglator shook his head. “Nah motherfucker, we got it all prepared and shit for y’all as soon as we got our hear on that you got to walking around now!” he said, as a grin crossed his lips. “Come on, motherfucker! You won’t regret it none!”

Gamzee sighed. He supposed if Karkat’s waited almost a full month, he could wait a couple more minutes. “Alright, alright motherfuckers. I’ll go. Lemme just throw some threads on. I ain’t walkin’ nowhere while wearin’ no motherfuckin hospital gown.”

The two other Clowns grinned triumphantly at having had convinced him to come with them, which made the curiosity in Gamzee grow. What could possibly be this surprise that has them so fucking excited? He was almost starting to feel excited himself. Almost.

The nurses were not exactly happy that he was planning on leaving the healing area at all, but with the promise to return and not stay away for very long, and the fact that he was their superior, they allowed him to leave. After getting dressed, wearing a simple black shirt and sweatpants, he followed his companions to wherever they were keeping his so called surprised. It wasn’t much longer until he stood before a closed door. He could hear some rustling inside but that was it. He could register a familiar scent lingering in the air, but due to his concussion, his scent of smell wasn’t exactly great at the moment, so he dismissed the familiarity and looked at his companions. “Here?” he asked them.

The two of them nodded eagerly, before the first one reached over to him, placing his hands over his eyes, shielding them, not allowing him to see anything really. “Just keep your ocular orbs closed all proper like, brother,” the Subjugglator behind him said as the other grabbed onto the doorknob and pushed the door open. Blindly, Gamzee stepped inside, his heightened senses already picking up others in the room, but because of the concussion he had gotten, he had a hard time telling where everyone was, or who they were.

“Ready motherfucker…?”

“One, two… three! Surprise, brother!” Gamzee blinked a few times, his gaze immediately falling upon the ‘present’ before him.

What he saw made his vascular pump stop in his chest.

He was greeted by the sight of a troll on all fours, nook dripping genetic material, presented right to him. Said troll was quivering, a few, needy trills emerging from his throat as he was bolted to the floor, shackles around his wrists which rattled with his small movements, the skin under them looking irritated as if he’d been wearing them for a long time. A blindfold seemed to be tied around his head, hiding his eyes from view, and the world from his gaze.

That wasn’t what shocked the Highblood the most though.

He noticed by the shade of genetic material dripping out of him, the familiar scent, and the walls decorated in the troll’s blood that this wasn’t just a random prisoner, this was his moirail, his diamond.

His Karkat.

And yet, that alone wasn’t the reason why he was so horrified.

He was covered in bruises that ranged from small to huge all over his body, probably from being hit over and over by blunt objects, kicks, and punches. His frame was sickly thin, ribs visible along his bruise and cut covered sides, hip bounds protruding quite noticeably, meaning that he probably had not been fed very well in a while. From the nook that was currently exposed to him, he could see a couple of deep, swollen and bleeding gashes trailed out, down to half way of the inside of his thighs. His sheath, where his bulge would usually emerge from, had been cauterized shut, which could only mean that they had castrated him, cut his bulge right off to make him something akin to a living bucket. There were more cuts all over his body, but a lot of them concentrated mostly along his hips, thighs, back and legs which he easily identified as claw marks, all of different sizes, some looking newer than others, making Gamzee realize that there was definitely more than just one offender.

His throat went dry, as his gaze traveled further along his bruise-covered legs, feeling his blood pusher beat painfully, his chest suddenly feeling incredibly tight, worse than when he was confined to the healing block, unable to move from the pain that wracked his body, when he noticed that his moirail, his best motherfucking friend was bolted to the floor. Literally. There were large nails bolting the troll to the floor through the skin of his legs, nearly missing the bone and tendons that made up said limbs. They seemed to be relatively newer than most of the wounds, which made the Highblood wonder just how long he had been here for.

He could tear his eyes away from Karkat as he keened, moaned and trilled for some, any attention. He moved his body, as if he was searching for some heat, some other living creature to give him what he desired, what he craved, what he thought he needed. He didn’t understand at first how he could be making such noises of pleasure when he had so many injuries upon his body, but he realized that the other Subjugglators must have used their Chucklevoodoos to make Karkat assimilate any amount of pain as sexual pleasure for their own sick amusement. As Karkat continued to moan and curl a little into himself as his body ached for release, he could hear the other Subjugglators laugh at this, laugh at Karkat’s unnatural actions as if it was one big, hilarious joke. They pointed, laughed, and mocked him openly, their voices and laughter echoing in the room, making them louder, more obnoxious, more maddening in Gamzee’s ears.

Gamzee could feel his head suddenly swarm at what he was witnessing and he doubted it had to do anything with what injuries he had sustained in the battle.

“Found this little fucker all gettin’ his sneak on into your block a few weeks ago. Motherfucker thought he could make it past us, but we sure showed the little shit! Honk!” One of the Subjugglators said.

 

_Weeks?_

 

He had come to see him?

 

“Feisty little motherfucker he is, but nothin’ we couldn’t handle. All bark but no motherfuckin’ bite, he is,” one of the others commented.

One of the Subjugglators that had been in the room when he had walked in, made his way to stand beside Karkat, looking down at his trembling form. A sadistic grin crossed his lips. “So, motherfucker. You like?” He asked as he knelt down beside Karkat, his hand moving to touch his back. He never got to as he suddenly found himself with a face full of fist. Despite his physical condition, Gamzee managed to move pretty quickly toward there the subjugglator was, managing to slam his fist right onto his face, effectively breaking his nose with a sickening sounding ‘crack’.

When the others gazed over to Gamzee, they saw that his eyes weren't their usual tone of yellow, but they were an iridescent red; as red as the blood that they spilled out of the mutant, crazed, uncontrolled. The Highblood that had got hit by the angry laughsassin, stared at him with a surprised look, obviously looking confused about what he had done wrong. He never got his question answered, for Gamzee grasped one of his horns and slammed his head hard enough against the ground to make the concrete crack, and crush the other’s skull with the action. His blood smeared over the floor, mixing with the red that had been previously spilled from his beloved moirail. He glanced down at the corpse, noticing that on his belt holster, he had his moirail’s sickles. He immediately reached for those and turned around to stare at the other Highbloods. There were four left.

“H-Hey, brother! Let’s not be motherfucking hasty now…!” one of the subjugglators spoke up. After having taken out so many Sea Dwellers almost single-handedly and surviving all his wounds, it was easy to say that the others were very wary about him and his strength, and ability. Not that they weren’t wary before, but now the fear was more evident amongst the lower ranks.

Gamzee didn’t answer the one that had spoken up. Instead? He shoved Karkat’s sickle against his throat, slicing toward a layer of skin making the other bleed. He attempted to retaliate with an attack of his own, but Gamzee was far too fast for him. He spun, dodging his attack and burying the tip of his sickle into his side, causing him to double over in pain. He dragged the sickle across his torso, effectively gutting the other troll, all the gore spilling from his midsection onto the floor, where the other sprawled all over of.

Gamzee faced the last three, feeling the rage within him become more and more overwhelming as he saw them pull out their weapons as if they had any motherfucking right to defend themselves after what they had down to him. It was burning him up, eating him alive from the inside out, this horrible, vicious monster that curled in his stomach and shot through his veins to burn through every nerve cell in his body. His own pain? Forgotten, devoured by that writhing, hideous heat that had him spreading the blood of his brethren across the room. It didn't matter how they died, just that they did. Just that they felt pain and horror before they died as the room became a horrific mess of honks and screams

Then they were no more. All the Subjugglators present were killed by his hand. His chest heaved with labored breaths, as the adrenaline coursed through his veins, and his anger flooded his pan. Kill, kill, kill, kill. It was all he knew at the moment, all he wanted at the moment. He wanted death, he wanted blood.

A soft moan broke him from his trance.

His eyes found Karkat’s body again, still moaning, still yearning for attention, for touch. Messiahs, it wretched at his blood pusher to see him like this. Eyes still red with the anger that lingered behind the surface, he knelt beside Karkat, raising a hand to touch his cheek, papping it gently. His action was met with a needy, wanton moan, as the poor creature leaned against his hand, against the touch like a desperate being that needed such touch to survive. It made him sick.

“Best friend, it’s me. I’m gonna get ya outta here. We’re gonna go home, okay? And I’m gonna nurse you back to motherfuckin’ health and everythin’ will be fine and perfect, yeah?” he said, his voice just a little shaky, a mixture of both anger and a bit of desperation as he spoke. Karkat didn’t answer him, he just continued to rub against his hand, seeking the touch, the physical attention. This caused worry to grow inside Gamzee’s pan. What had they done to his moirail? Had they broken him beyond repair? Was there nothing he could do?

That fear lingered on the back of his mind, as he pulled the blindfold away from Karkat’s eyes, revealing them to him. What he saw made his blood pusher sink even more. They were so dark, hazy. It was like he wasn’t even there. His mind was definitely tampered with, he realized, and this made him wish he had the ability to bring those fuckers back to life just so he could kill them in a more vicious manner than he had, over and over again. He wanted to look into his mind and see if he could fix what the others had broken, but right now he didn’t have the time. Instead, he invaded the other’s mind as painlessly as he could, to merely put him to sleep, knock him out for a while so he could release him from his restraints and get the fuck out of where they were. He felt terrible at how incredible easy it was to enter his mind, met with absolutely no resistance. The disarray in the red blood’s mind was one of the worst he had ever seen, and that was only a quick glimpse he got of the surface as he used his voodoos to knock the red blood unconscious.

He pulled himself out of the poor troll’s mind before he tore at the restraints that had him confined to the floor, pulling the long nails from his legs, and the shackles from his wrists. The action from the former caused a lot of blood to spill which made Gamzee curse silently.

In any case, he had the other held protectively in his arms as he bolted out of the torture dungeon that they were in a few moments prior. He snuck through the encampment, using his sweeps of training as a laughsassin to make sure to escape unseen. He left everything of his behind, he didn’t even think about going back and getting anything, as his main priority was to get Karkat away from this hell.

He found his way to the place where Karkat usually landed in whenever he sneaked to camp. He was relieved to find the void skimmer still there, untouched, waiting for them. Immediately, he climbed in, securing Karkat in a seat before he turned on the vehicle and took off, navigating the ship away from these lands, into a place where he knew they would be safe, a kept as a secret from his fellow subjugglators.

It needed to be this way, for he knew he had a long road ahead with what he had seen inside Karkat’s mind.

A long road ahead for the recovery of his best friend.


	3. :o)

“ _PLEASE STOP I TOLD YOU I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO HIM!”_

A scream rang out through the darkness, panicked, high pitched, begging. But it was faint, far away, fluttering in and out of his mind, before sinking back into that cold, cold pool. Other things too, were making a rise up out of the murk, only to sink back down again, some of them too fast for him to even actually realize they were there. Others lingered, dripping black muck over the pond, stirring it up, creating ripples, drawing more to the surface.

“ _I told you I told you I told you, I'm his moirail I was just worried about him!”_

“ _I wasn't going to hurt him or anyone else-”_

“ _I-”_

Screaming.

Then silence.

 

Then drifting.

 

. . .

 

An image, rising up through the murk. A dark room, and the clinking of chains. His legs were shaking, he could barely stand on them, but he had to, or he'd just hang, and it'd pop his arms out of their sockets. It hurt, it hurt and hurt and hurt and he was scared to death. They were making jokes, laughing at him every time he shook, broke out into hysterical giggles when he pissed himself.

And it was gone, just as quick as that, another one rising in it's place. He felt cold and exposed, not chained up this time, or otherwise bound, just shivering, pushed himself into one of the corners, had his legs hiked up to cover his body as he buried his face into his arms and just asked them, begged them to let him have his clothes back.

“ _But now why would we all want to be a mother fucking covering what pretty skin we ain't got the chance to mark up yet? Eh brother? Why would we be all letting you hide away places that ain't stained with your mirthless colors yet?”_

That was when it all started to bleed out, overtaken by sharp shades of indigo that stabbed at his vision and the tips of his nerves each time he so much as opened his eyes or moved or breathed or thought. Things became blurry, and fear was soaking them up, eating them, and clawing through him. And he

needed it.

needed it

needed it.

He wouldn't exist without it, without some confirmation he was here, through touch, a burning, writhing monster that bore down on him, breathing ice cold flames over his back and heat was what kept it at bay and it was severe enough that it destroyed his inhibitions. Twisted, tangled through his mind like a ring of weeds, the roots burrowing into each cell, shifting it out of place. He was confused, didn't understand what was going on. The weeds were eating up his vision, soaking into his eyes.

A flare of hate, yes, he remembered hating it at first, prompted back to his screaming and fighting back when they switched his pain and pleasure responses, when they began to hurt him just to make him writhe in arousal and he hated them and he hated himself and he spit the most foul things he could think of at them. He'd clawed up one of them, that was when things started to get foggy, when they began to shove his mind to and fro, when they began to twist it out of shape and twist him and tangle one stem of thoughts with another and he could no longer make out left or right. He knew, for a long time, they made him aware of what was happening to him, let him know they were doing something to his mind, and he was split in a million pieces over what was actually his own thoughts, unmolested, and what was placed there, or corrupted. He didn't know where he ended, and where they began. Karkat didn't know what was _himself_ anymore. Those few last threads that were him, he lost track of, too blinded to be able to grab at them again, or maybe he grabbed the wrong ones. At some point, he stopped hating it. At some point, he lost the want to fight back. It was hard to tell when, or why. Soon things got blurry and foggy just like everything else. Eaten up by fear, and eaten up by want and need and there was no logic or consciousness to it anymore, they were never there to begin with, as far as he knew now.

All that mattered was getting more.

 

When he woke up, the only thing he knew, was that he was alone, and that wasn't going to work. Karkat's eyes opened up as darkened red stared up out of the storage coon he was in, and up at the ceiling, but all he saw were faint shadows and drifting lights, nothing real, no defined shapes. He was unaware a few days had passed, that the void skimmer he was in was in the depths of space, that it was taking him somewhere far away from the place where he had been. And none of that mattered either. All that mattered was finding something... finding _heat_.... that would stave off the cold that was devouring him alive and making fear rise up in his gut rapidly, overwhelming. His hand gripped the edge of the tank, and he pulled himself up, a shudder running through his spine as all of his wounds protested against the movements. But he didn't feel any pain, he felt tingly, he felt a rush of sticky sweet pleasure dripping warmth over his body, chasing away the cold.

He tried to stand, but his body had limits, even if he could no longer feel them. The muscles in his legs were damaged, and they were still healing, unable to hold his weight. And with the malnourished state he was in, it was heavily doubtful that he'd have even had the strength to carry himself that far anyway. He balanced on the edge of the tub, tried to lean forward onto his legs, only to slip from his own inability to stand right now, and from the sopor making the floor slippery. His legs gave out, he hit the ground, he felt one of his wounds rip back open, several of them actually, and he couldn't help it as a strangled moan pierced sharp and harsh through his throat.

Despite having fought and killed those Subjugglators, and managed to escape the fortress in which they had been, Gamzee was still recovering from his injuries, so it was no surprise that he had spent most of his time on the trip sleeping. He only woke up ever so often to check up on Karkat and make sure he was still asleep, before eating something quick and going back into his coon. Shit was uncomfortable, mostly because of the slime used for the ship, which was basically a slime that went through something akin to a recycling cycle. But, it was all they had at the moment, and considering how tired Gamzee was, it wasn't like discomfort was a big issue.

He broke out of his peaceful (if slightly uncomfortable) slumber, when a moan tore through the air. It hit his auricular sponge clots and had him emerging from his slime with a sudden jolt. The slime slid down his naked, scarred body as he climbed out of his coon, as his gaze fell on Karkat's sprawled form on the floor. Apparently he had woken up and attempted to walk away, not realizing the amount of injuries that his body has... not that hew would be able to tell. Not with how much those fuckers messed up with his mind.

"Hey motherfucker. All is good, I'm here," he said in a tone he hoped was comforting, though at the moment, he doubted it mattered. As much as it wretched his poor heart, he knew that at the moment, the 'real' Karkat was behind a dark fog of muddled thoughts, feelings and emotions. He wouldn't be able to hear him right, to see him, to recognize him. Not yet. But he liked to think that the more he talked to him, the easier it would be for him to return.

Karkat didn't react to the words, at least, not in any real sense of their meaning. He heard noises, noises that he knew meant someone was nearby, and he reacted to them, trying to sit up, which only caused some of his wounds to open up enough to begin to bleed, mingling in with the sopor that was smeared on his body. He was trying to lean forward onto his hands, trying to balance on his hands and knees, apparently, but his body just wasn't working with him, only causing him to mewl from the pain (pleasure heat more more more).

Pain was important, it let you know something was wrong somewhere, but Karkat wasn't getting it right, he wasn't supposed to be moving around, his body was trying to tell him that, but his brain was getting the wrong signals, and he just kept trying to move, his body shuddering in something that could have been pain, which his mind thought was that delicious heat (chase away the cold. Exist. Touch. Feel heat). He had to find the source of that noise, something that could give him the heat his mind was damn near craving, no. _Needing_.

Messiahs, he hated to see him like this. He hated it so much. The wounds on his body had reopened, so copious amounts of blood were pouring out of them... and yet Karkat continued to mewl, to moan and writhe in pleasure, seek heat, desire more. Since it didn't hurt, he continued to move, which caused his wounds to open, and didn't allow them to heal properly. He needed to get him to realize that he needed to heal, that he needed to stop moving around so much. Quite frankly though, Gamzee didn't want to knock him out again. He needed to be awake, so he could eat, so they could interact and help him through his path of recovery.

Maybe that's what he should do first. He should try and stop Karkat from assimilating pain with pleasure. He had to make him see that feeling pain was not a good thing. The Makara placed both hands on Karkat's face, gently papping one of his cheeks to get his attention. He responded to touch better than words, but that didn't stop him from speaking to him. His eyes bore into Karkat's darkened, hazy ones before he addressed him. "Okay, best friend. I'm going to use my voodoos on you, yeah? Goin' to mess with your pan a lil' and fix what those mirthless motherfuckers done and ruined. I'll try to make it as motherfuckin' painless as possible."

His own gaze bore into the smaller troll's own and suddenly he was inside Karkat's mind. It was just as bad as he remembered seeing it and really made his hope for his best friend recovery slowly sink further and further down. In a normal pan, fears are usually presented for someone with the ability to use Chucklevoodoos as small, black bubbles that infect and taint different areas around the brain. They're contained, concentrated in those bubbles. Sometimes, if the fear was more obvious and potent, it would appear more like black sludge tainting the surface, but still in small, concentrated areas if the fear wasn't a crippling one. In his dear moirail's mind, there were bubbles, there were smears, tendrils taking over everywhere you could possibly see. There was no telling where one fear started and the other ended. It was just one big clusterfuck of pure terror, oozing, leaking, bubbling, breathing, almost as if it was sentient.

 

It was positively haunting.

 

He knew this recovery process was going to be long and agonizing, and while he was one of the best Chucklevoodoo users out there, he wasn't sure if he had it in him to fix this mess... but he was going to try for his best friend, his moirail.

Focusing on his task at hand, he navigated to the horror that was the current state of this troll's mind, and began to study each fear he came across carefully. They were easy to identify, but every time he did he could feel the ugly feeling in his stomach get worse and worse. There were so many, none of which his moirail would've had... or if he did, they would never be this large, this overpowering. The fear of never being touched, combined with the fear of dying without another being's touch was augmented, and was probably one of the biggest fears he could see. He wanted to rid him of that fear, but at the same time, he couldn't just remove that fear, tear it out of him like it was nothing. Sure, you could very easily plant fears in another troll's head, but removing them was a much trickier business. Merely cutting out that fear by the roots in his pan would do far more damage than good, and would probably damage his friend past beyond repair. You do not rip out fears, you shape them, minimize them, cut them off and make them shrivel until they die on their own or on the person's own personal growth. That was the only way.

As much as he wanted to deal with that now, he should probably go toward the smaller fears, the smaller things that the mirth-lacking Subjugglators had changed. Deep within his pan, he found what he was looking for: the assimilation of pain as pleasure. He could easily reverse that, change it back to how it was supposed to be. It was just like unplugging a cable from somewhere, and re-plugging it somewhere else. It was simple enough, and he'd be able to do it without causing any sort of trauma...

He felt hands on his cheeks, warm, warm against the cold that was threatening to eat it up, a life line, an anchor which his existence stabilized on. He was here, _aware,_ existed as long as there was touch and heat. But not enough, already he felt himself slipping away, fear of disappearing from the lack of it made him try to push forward. He was purring, the noise rumbling deep in his chest as he rubbed his face against Gamzee's hands, before one of his own attempted to reach out, and touch.

Pain was what stopped him.

He froze, first and foremost, his entire body tensed up, as suddenly, every ache, every infection, every broken bone and spot of bruised or mangled flesh, every burn. It hurt. _Hurt for real._ No pleasure, nothing, just ice cold pain that dragged him down under a wave, a choked noise escaping his throat. His stomach heaved, suddenly on fire in his stomach, and he doubled over, gagging before bringing up a flood of indigo, vomiting all of the contents of his stomach out as the pain chewed him up and spat him out over to dig it's heel into the very core of him and scrape him down the pavement. His hearing went, as did his vision, and he wasn't even aware of his sore throat as he screamed, more focused on lower, on his organs, on his legs and arms and groin and it all hurt. He was trying to breathe through it, constricted by the pain of every tiny movement, locking him up as he bled.

He stopped screaming for a moment, wheezing, before starting right back up again, even louder as his grip on Gamzee's hand tightened weakly, his entire body trembling, as he tried not to move.

He watched in horror as the other screamed and writhed before him. His face fell as his body convulsed and suddenly began to throw up all over himself and the floor under them large amounts of an indigo fluid. His face fell as he noticed just what was that substance, and how there was nothing else there but that substance. He could feel himself getting sick to his nutrition sack at the smell and the sight that just now graced his eyes. He reached down to lift the other's head so he wouldn't choke or asphyxiate on the genetic material that emerged from him, wishing yet again, for the hundredth time since he rescued Karkat, that he could somehow bring those bastards back to life just so he could kill them again, repeatedly.

The screaming had taken him by surprise and immediately he felt like an idiot. Of course Karkat was going to scream if he was covered in wounds and he was sure there were a lot of those that he probably couldn't see. The red blooded troll must be in so much pain right now, that it was probably doing him more harm than good...

No, it had to be done, or else he wouldn't stop moving and continuously hurting himself... but at the same time, he couldn't see Karkat suffering like this, in so much pain, hearing him scream himself raw. He probably wasn't even realizing how loud he was screaming, considering that he knew he wasn't aware of his surroundings if they did not stimulate him to crave his need for touch and heat.

Fuck.

"I'm sorry best friend," he whispered as he touched his cheek again and once more entered his mind, this time to knock him unconscious. Once his moirail's body went limp, he scooped him up in his arms and set him back down into his coon, letting the slime cover most of his body.

Gamzee stared down at his friend's unconscious form before he sighed and walked away to the main control room of the void skimmer. He sat down on the driver's seat and merely sunk back and closed his eyes. He couldn't do this, he wasn't knowledgeable enough to fix the mess those other's had done with Karkat's mind. He had good control of his Chucklevoodoos, but he really didn't think his knowledge was vast enough for him alone to fix what had been damaged.

No, as much as it pained him to admit it, he needed help. He needed someone's help, someone who was good with the voodoos, better than himself even. Outside the Grand Highblood, there was only one other troll he knew that had nearly flawless control over the Chucklevoodoos... and while he really hated asking that motherfucker for anything, he was desperate enough for him to do so.

With a grimace, he got up from his chair and moved over to a husktop that he had available on the control deck. He logged into Trollian to check if the individual was online. He was. He clicked on the corresponding Trollian handle, watching the chat window pop up in his screen. He immediately began typing.

 

\-- terminallyCapricious [TC] began pestering tacentAnabiosis [TA] at 20:07 –

 

[08:05] TC: motherfucker you there?  
[08:06] TC: NEED YOUR MOTHERFUCKIN HELP FOR SOME MIRTHLACK SHIBIT SITUATION THIS MOTHERFUCKER FINDS HIMSELF AT.  
[08:07] TA: :o)  
[08:08] TC: i'm sure you already got the know on about what all up and went down back at the motherfuckin fortress, yeah?  
[08:08] TA: :o)  
[08:09] TC: THE UNCOUTH UNWHIMSY MOTHERFUCKERS GOT THEIR DISGUSTING HANDS ON MY MOTHERFUCKIN MOIRAIL.  
[08:10] TA:   
[08:11] TC: mirthless motherfuckers messed him up real bad, brother. :o(  
[08:11] TA:   
[08:12] TC: MOTHERFUCKER, THIS IS SERIOUS!  
[08:12] TA: :o)  
[08:12] TC: can't you done and be motherfuckin understandin for once and help a motherfucker out?!  
[08:12] TC: >:o(  
[08:13] TA:   
[08:14] TC: MOTHER FUCK.  
[08:14] TA: :o)  
[08:14] TC: don't know why i thought i could done and get my trust on right at a brother.  
[08:14] TC: NEVER THE FUCK MIND.  
[08:14] TC: fuck you.  
[08:15] TA:   
[08:16] TC: I AIN'T GOT THE TIME FOR THIS NONE MOTHERFUCKER.  
[08:16] TC: leave me alone if you ain't gonna help none!  
[08:16] TA: :o(  
[08:16] TC: >:o(  
[08:17] TA: :o(

\-- terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased pestering tacentAnabiosis [TA] at 20:17 --  
  
  
[08:18] TA: MOTHER FUCKER DO YOU ALL WANT WHAT HELP THIS WICKED BROTHER ALL DONE HAS TO BE OFFERING MOST GRACIOUSLY WITH THE FILTH BLOODS YOU HANG WITH, OR NOT?  
[08:20] TC: THAT'S WHY MOTHERFUCKIN CONATACTED YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE BUT YOU AIN'T BEING HELPFUL TO A BROTHER NONE!  
[08:20] TA: :o)  
[08:20] TC: are you gonna help this motherfucker our not?  
[08:21] TA: WHAT ALL WOULD MY FAVORITE MOTHER FUCKER BE GETTING HIS RIGHTEOUS NEED ON?  
[08:21] TC: MY MOIRAIL, MOTHERFUCKER.  
[08:22] TC: the motherfuckers used their voodoos on him.  
[08:22] TC: MESSED HIM UP SOMETHING BAD, MOTHERFUCKER.  
[08:22] TA: YES, SO I ALL HAD THE WICKED WORD PREACHED UNTO MY HEAR CLOTS.  
[08:24] TC: i can't fix it motherfucker.  
[08:24] TA: WHY DO YOU WASTE TIME WITH SUCH A MOTHERFUCKING BLASPHEMY DOWN UPON OUR EXISTENCE? BEST TO LET THE MOTHER FUCKER ROT, AND CAST AWAY THE BODY SO IT BOTHERS YOU NO LONGER.  
[08:25] TC: BECAUSE HE'S MY MOTHERFUCKIN MOIRAIL, MOTHERFUCKER.  
[08:25] TC: maybe you can't get your motherfuckin understand one because maybe you ain't never got what pale feelings i done and feel for the brother in my pump biscuit all righteously like.  
[08:26] TC: BUT HE IS ALL I MOTHERFUCKING GOT.  
[08:26] TC: and all i motherfuckin need.  
[08:26] TC: ARE YOU GONNA HELP A BROTHER OUT OR NOT, MOTHERFUCKER?  
[08:26] TA: YOU ASK ME TO GO AGAINST WHAT TEACHINGS PROPER I ALL SITUATED NEAT AND NICE IN MY PAN, FOR THE SAKE OF A MUTANT WHICH YOU HAPPEN TO BE FOND OF?  
[08:26] TC: you ain't gotta do it none.  
[08:26] TC: I'M JUST ASKING FOR A MOTHERFUCKIN FAVOR.  
[08:27] TA: :o)  
[08:27] TC: because i'm motherfuckin desperate enough to get to asking such from a mirthlack no-pump freezebiscuit like you.  
[08:27] TA: WOULD A BROTHER STOOP SO LOW IN HIS OWN VIEW AS TO BE IN THIS PREACHER'S DEBT FOR THIS MOTHERFUCKING BLASPHEMY?  
[08:28] TC: YES, MOTHERFUCKER. I WOULD.  
[08:28] TC: for him.  
[08:28] TC: FOR MOTHERFUCKIN HIM.  
[08:28] TA: PRECIOUS.  
[08:28] TA: AND FOOLISH.  
[08:28] TC: shut the motherfuck up.  
[08:28] TC: I AIN'T CARING NONE WHAT YOU DONE AND THINK, MOTHERFUCKER.  
[08:28] TA: COORDINATES, BROTHER, I HAVE NEED OF THEM IF YOU WISH FOR MY ASSISTANCE.  
[08:30] TC: terminallyCapricious [TC] sent tacentAnabiosis [TA] file "coordinates.txt"  
[08:31] TC: there.  
[08:31] TA: I SHALL DO MY BEST TO QUELL WHAT MOTHER FUCKING CHAOS YOU HAVE STIRRED UP HERE WITH YOUR STUNT.  
[08:31] TA: AND THEN I WILL COME.  
[08:32] TC: THANKS MOTHERFUCKER.  
[08:32] TC: motherfuckin appreciate it.  
[08:32] TA: WE WILL BOTH GROW TO REGRET THIS CHOICE, SOON ENOUGH.  
[08:32] TA: REGARDLESS OF YOUR ATTEMPTS, EVEN IF THE BLASPHEMY SURVIVES THIS, TIME WILL SNATCH HIM FROM YOU AGAINST YOUR OWN WISHES  
[08:33] TC: MOTHERFUCKER, SHUT UP!  
[08:33] TA: :o)  
[08:33] TA: AS A BROTHER WISHES.  
[08:33] TC: mother fuck, i hate you.

\-- terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased trolling tacentAnabiosis [TA] at 20:33 –

   
  
[08:33] TA: WILL BE SEEING YOU SOON, BROTHER MINE.

 

\-- tacentAnabiosis [TA] ceased trolling terminallyCapricious [TC] at 20:34 --


End file.
